Let it snow!
“I don’t like this.”
Loose snow breaks away beneath a crampon.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
The gravel underneath offers no purchase.
“Please let me get out of this. I won’t do anything this stupid again, promise.”
Lunge desperately with the single long axe and blessedly, mercifully, the shaft plunges full-length. Feet up, another deep plunge with the axe, spare hand punching numbly into the snow, and at last I’m stood on something reasonably structural and can take notice of something other than imminent death.
First route of the season, a couple of days after a heavy dump of snow. We didn’t really intend to be climbing, weren’t looking for a particular route, but when we walked into the cwm the gully looked reasonably complete and not too steep and so we sandbagged ourselves into climbing it. Which is why I am standing halfway up, slick with cold sweat, hands numb in their sodden fleece mittens, ducking occasional pieces of falling ice, and earnestly wishing for waterproof gloves, a helmet, two axes and all the other comforting paraphanalia that goes with being a climber rather than a slightly mis-placed walker.
Onwards and upwards, trogging up the snow to a frieze of dangling icicles hanging off a little lip. There is water running down the rock behind them, and the ice coating the boulder blocking the gully is clearly not long for this world. I take the safe option and boulder round the side with one of those awkward stick-your-foot-in-your-ear-and-stand-up moves, made even more awkward by having spiky metal on each foot and hence being in danger of nailing my own ear to the rock.
Above, blessedly, the snow is good.
Dan and I top out to the last rays of the setting sun and scamper to the summit. Suddenly the fear and the hot-aches seem entirely worthwhile.
Another adventure has been survived.